by Susan Calman
‘A puncture?’
‘In time. A slow leak. It’s small, but if you don’t patch it up –’
‘Your bike falls over,’ said Rose, at the exact same moment as the Doctor said, ‘The universe implodes.’ He added one of those grins that seemed slightly larger than his mouth. She could never quite tell if he was joking when he grinned like that.
‘Aha!’ he pointed a finger at the north-eastern part of North America. ‘There we are!’
The TARDIS dematerialised just as they were about to cross the path of the blinking ISS again. On board the station, a woman thought she’d seen a strange blue light out of the corner of her eye, but she dismissed it as wishful thinking, which it was.
‘New York?’ said Rose, excited. She’d never been there.
‘Toronto!’ said the Doctor. He looked at Rose’s disappointed face. ‘Don’t be daft! It’s just as good as New York. Go, Maple Leafs!’
Outside it was freezing. Entrancingly cold. The snow had set hard against the pavements, and the cars moved almost silently under the crystal-spotted sky. The high-rise buildings downtown were incredibly dense and rose, glittering, into the air. There were very few people on the streets; Toronto had an entire underground city that made it possible to travel across town without ever having to brave the ferociously cold winter air.
‘Ooh, it’s nice,’ said Rose.
‘Course it’s nice,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Everywhere is. Come on. We’ll be able to see everything from where we’re heading.’
The Doctor sniffed the air, then set off towards a huge, brightly lit residential tower. They bundled into the lobby behind a large man, then presented themselves to the doorman.
The Doctor engaged that grin again. He had a tendency to think it more charming than it actually was. ‘Hello! We’re here to see … apartment 2714.’
The doorman smiled politely. ‘Let me just call up –’
‘No need!’ said the Doctor, flicking out his psychic paper. ‘We’re –’
He looked up at the bland building, out of ideas for once.
‘The birthday surprise,’ said Rose quickly, noting how kind the doorman looked. ‘Please don’t spoil it!’
‘Oh, a birthday, eh?’ he said, smiling. ‘You know, I’ve got some left-over helium balloons from an office party through here in the back …’ He bustled off behind his desk.
‘Um. We do … we do a dance,’ Rose called after him. ‘He’s the clown.’
‘I see that!’ the doorman replied, returning with several floating balloons, which Rose gratefully accepted. ‘Do something funny!’ He looked expectantly at the Doctor.
The Doctor glared at Rose.
‘He’s only funny when he’s being paid,’ said Rose, before running after the Doctor who had walked huffily into the lift and grumpily started pressing buttons at random.
‘This TARDIS is rubbish,’ he said. He pressed a few more buttons.
The elevator stopped on every floor. Each time the doors opened, the Doctor would stick his head out, sniff surreptitiously, then lean back inside again.
‘What are you sniffing for?’ said Rose.
‘I’ll know it when I sniff it,’ replied the Doctor.
‘What, time has a smell?’
‘Of course time has a smell! Yours is of diesel and hair gel and satellite trails.’
Rose wrinkled her nose.
They hit the ninth floor, and the Doctor stuck his head out again.
‘Come on, then!’ he said.
As she stepped into the corridor, Rose took a deep sniff. Sure enough, there was a faint … something. Was she imagining it? It was like the faintest trace of candle smoke on the air. Not scented candles, but something rougher, greasier … Then it was gone again.
They carefully walked up and down the corridor, listening at each of the doors, until they found an empty corner apartment. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and the door unlocked and swung open.
‘Right,’ said the Doctor. ‘This will do.’
‘Ooh,’ said Rose, taking in their luxurious surroundings. ‘Tell you what, the high-rises on my estate are nothing like this.’
She wandered through the open-plan sitting room. It was sumptuous, but it was fitted out rather like a hotel, in shades of beige. There was no sign of personal photographs or knick-knacks. Rose wondered if it was a rental apartment, or perhaps someone had simply bought it as a glass box to store their money in? It didn’t feel like a place to love or call home; it felt more like something to have. The thought saddened her.
One corner of the sitting room was just two walls of glass, and snow flurried past the windows. The views were indeed astonishing. Skyscraper after skyscraper glistened all around, great towers of steel and glass. It was dizzying at this height, like being in a city of lights in the sky, with the honking of the cars wafting up from far below.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ the Doctor said from behind her. ‘It’s not ours.’
‘You just broke in!’
‘Yes, to save the universe.’
‘Would the universe really mind if I made myself a cup of tea?’
The Doctor pursed his lips.
‘Glass of water, then?’ said Rose.
The Doctor seemed to consider this, then nodded, before returning to setting up the telescope he’d brought with him.
‘Would you look at that,’ he said, when Rose returned with water for each of them. He gestured out of the enormous windows.
Rose stared out in wonder. From where she stood, she could see into hundreds of other people’s apartments, right into their lives. Some people were getting changed, some were eating, and in other rooms the blue lights of televisions flickered. It was captivating.
‘Life unfolding,’ the Doctor said. ‘In the dawn of the twenty-first century, everyone blissfully unaware of what … Well, never mind about that right now.’
‘You sound like David Attenborough,’ Rose said. ‘Is that what you do? Look on us as just another species?’
The Doctor blinked, which, since it was something she never thought he did quite often enough, Rose noticed whenever it happened. ‘But you are,’ he said.
‘Just animals in the wild?’
He shrugged. ‘We’re all animals in the wild, Rose.’
Rose pressed her nose to the glass, catching sight of her own reflection. She grimaced. It was harder than you’d think to get your roots done while travelling through the whole of time and space. ‘So, what are we looking for?’
‘Not sure.’ The Doctor came and stood close to her. They gazed out across the frosted city. ‘It’s not in this building, but it isn’t far, and from here we can see just about everything. A panopticon.’
‘A panopti-what?’ said Rose. ‘Never mind. Here’s a question: what are we looking for that’s nine storeys off the ground?’
The Doctor glanced at her and she prepared, as usual, to feel stupid.
‘That,’ he said, ‘is an excellent question. Either something from a period where the geology of the region was different –’
‘What, like a caveman or something?’ said Rose.
‘Could be. Or the thing itself could be geographically off.’ He frowned. ‘Then we’re really in trouble.’
‘Worse than the universe imploding?’
The Doctor thought for a moment. ‘Faster.’
Night came and the city settled into a quiet hum, as the lights in the apartments all over steadily turned themselves off. The Doctor didn’t move from his position in front of the telescope. Eventually, Rose lay down on the immaculate and very comfortable sofa, pulled a cashmere blanket over herself, and fell asleep.
When she woke to a chilly, perfectly pink-and-white dawn, the Doctor still knelt, unmoving, in front of the telescope. He looked like a sniper at his post – so much so that Rose felt an uncharacteristic stab of fear looking at the black-clad figure.
‘Do you want me to take over for a while so you can rest?’ Rose said.
The Doctor looked at her as if he hadn’t understood the question, because he hadn’t.
But they took turns at the telescope regardless, the windows all around them waking up to the new day. Rose wondered about the people getting ready in the rooms she saw: the young woman who ate half a grapefruit and did sit-ups before getting dressed; the old man who got dressed in a full suit and tie, then sat down by the window (Rose thought he was looking back at her, but he wasn’t – he was staring at nothing); the two young men, clearly in love, making breakfast together.
‘I have to eat,’ Rose said eventually. ‘I’m going to go out and find something. Do you think they’ll take pounds?’
‘Give me your bank card,’ said the Doctor, sonicking it.
‘What, so breaking and entering isn’t a crime, and stealing from banks isn’t a crime, but taking a teabag is?’
‘Trust me,’ said the Doctor. ‘You’ll pay the banks back.’
Rose blinked and turned to go.
‘Also, get me a blueberry muffin!’ shouted the Doctor.
Inside the coffee shop at the bottom of the building Rose stared at the incredible choice. The array of coffees, doughnuts, pastries and buns available was stunning. She could, she thought, learn to like Toronto. Although, she could also do with a scarf and a hat …
As she reached out to collect her takeaway coffee, she suddenly caught it again, just for an instant, lingering above the smell of fresh bread that filled the coffee shop: candle wax, but greasier, somehow more insistent than a normal candle. She glanced around but it seemed no one else could smell it; everyone else was busy with their papers and their coffees.
She rushed out of the café, and found the scent was stronger outside. She looked around, then bent her head back to gaze up at the huge skyscraper directly opposite.
‘It’s across there!’ Rose yelled, tumbling through the apartment door, coffee slopping over the side of her paper cup.
The Doctor glanced up from the telescope.
‘That building! Just across the road! Look at it! Look in there! Let me do it!’
She shoved the Doctor aside and positioned herself in front of the telescope.
‘This isn’t blueberry,’ he said, rustling around in the bag she had thrust at him.
Rose didn’t answer. She was scanning the apartments opposite one by one through the telescope. Some had the blinds or curtains drawn, but most didn’t. Empty … Empty … A mother with a child clambering around the sitting room. A woman working on a computer, fingers dancing over the keyboard. A man doing weights – Rose swung the telescope quickly back to that one. Nice.
Then she carried on. She panned down. She panned back up. Ooh, bit fancy, that one.
‘How do you tune this in?’ She fidgeted desperately with the dials on the telescope.
‘You don’t tune it in. You focus it,’ said the Doctor, effortlessly twisting a knob on the side.
Instantly the fancy place that had caught Rose’s eye jumped towards her through the viewfinder, and she flapped her arms furiously.
‘Doctor! That room, there!’
He rushed to the window and put his hands around his eyes to see what he’d missed.
Toronto seemed to be a clean, orderly place. The apartments were tidy, up to date and fashionable. But the fancy apartment opposite, it was different. The room looked oddly as though it was far too large for its big wooden-framed window. It wasn’t a neat room, either – unlike the room they were currently standing in and all the others in the modern glass buildings. What she was looking at was a vast salon. Its red-painted walls were lined with wooden-panelled doors that led who only knew where. A fire burned in the grate, although Rose hadn’t seen any sign of chimneys on the outside of the apartment building. A long dining table with flickering candles and silver plates up its length showed a recently abandoned dinner. What’s more, it didn’t seem to be morning in the room, but rather evening; the windows to the side of the room (which, now Rose thought of it, shouldn’t have been there at all) looked out on to darkness. Grand oil paintings hung from the walls, and a sideboard on the back wall was covered in papers and seemed to be in some disarray.
It was as though this apartment existed outside of the Toronto that surrounded it; almost as though it existed outside of time altogether.
As she gazed into the room, a solitary figure emerged through one of the doors.
Rose pulled away from the telescope and blinked, suddenly chilled. Then she steeled herself and lowered her eye to the telescope again.
The figure who had entered the room was male. His hair was long on top, short at the sides and pale, as was his skin. He had very high cheekbones, and his eyes were bright blue and hooded, his expression distracted. He pored over something on the sideboard, reading it very intently. Then, he straightened up and glanced at the door he had come through – had someone knocked? – and strode across to it. He was wearing an embroidered topcoat over a waistcoat and what looked to Rose like jodhpurs and riding boots. He pulled open the door and, just as Rose caught a tantalising glimpse of a candlelit hallway beyond, vanished from sight.
‘Did you see? Did you see?’ said Rose, jumping up. She had witnessed many things with the Doctor, but peering into the past from the present – this was something new.
The Doctor looked through the telescope himself then, arms folded. ‘Russian. Early nineteenth century. If he’s this high above sea level I’d say –’ he snapped his fingers – ‘the Orekhovaya hill. Saint Petersburg. Epaulettes, but soft hands. He hasn’t served. Yet.’
Rose was already pulling on her coat. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Come on, then. Are we going?’
The Doctor frowned. ‘It might not be that simple. Don’t just go stomping in like you usually do.’
‘You can talk!’
Outside on the street, the Doctor and Rose ran across the road to the apartment building opposite. The road was now busy with long lanes of cabs and honking cars, the winter sun glinting off the windscreens.
Inside the lobby, they were again greeted by a doorman. The Doctor cheerfully held out his psychic paper, and the doorman nodded and ushered them towards the elevators without further ado. As they entered the elevator, Rose sniffed so loudly that the people already in it looked strangely at her, but she could no longer detect the scent of candle wax. Someone asked Rose what button she wanted pressed, and she realised she hadn’t thought to count how high up the salon had been.
‘He knows,’ she said, pointing to the Doctor, who was leaning against the back of the elevator with his arms folded.
‘Eight,’ he said smugly.
The eighth-floor corridor was long and silent when they stepped out into it. The Doctor counted the doors as they walked, until they reached the right one. He glanced at Rose. She could smell it again, and it was much stronger: an earthy, guttering flame.
The Doctor knocked. ‘Hello? Zdravstvuyte? Bonjour?’
There was no answer. With Rose right behind him, he sonicked the door and threw it open to reveal … nothing. There was nothing there at all; or rather, it was just a normal apartment, quite small. It looked like a young woman lived there, Rose thought. Fairy lights festooned the walls, and there was a fluffy throw on the couch. It was very much the kind of place she might live in herself. She ran to the large window and gazed back at the building they’d come from. She could even see the telescope glinting in the sunlight.
‘Sure you have the right room?’ she said.
‘I don’t know,’ said the Doctor crossly. ‘Why don’t you check it against your own calculations?’
‘But where’s the man we saw?’
The Doctor quickly scanned every inch of the small apartment with his sonic screwdriver, looking concerned. ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Wherever the puncture is, we can’t access it from here.’
‘Well, can we get the TARDIS to take us back in time to it?’
‘No, because then we’d be there, and there’s not where the problem is.’
&
nbsp; Rose frowned. Then she rummaged in her pockets, and took out a lipstick.
‘What are you doing?’
She wrote on the window in big, bright red letters: LOOK. Then she wrote it again in Russian.
‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘I will never get tired of that TARDIS translation circuit.’
‘You’re going to really freak out some twenty-two-year-old marketing graduate with that, you know,’ said the Doctor.
‘Not as much as the universe imploding would,’ said Rose, adding a lipstick arrow in the direction of their building for good measure.
Back in front of the telescope, freshly armed with paper and pens, Rose squinted across the street.
‘Why?’ mused the Doctor, pacing up and down the immaculate rug. ‘Why can we see it here and not there? That’s not how it should work. Holes have two sides.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Mind you, I have more or less given up on knowing how anything should work …’
Rose looked at him askance. ‘What, you? Universe’s biggest know-it-all?’
‘What do you call a know-it-all who’s wrong about everything?’
‘He doesn’t appear to have a name,’ said Rose, smiling.
She continued to watch the room across the street. It was still evening there; although, thankfully, the heavy red-velvet curtains were not yet drawn.
As she watched, one of the wooden doors flew open, and the pale young man from earlier stormed back in. He sat down at the table and dropped his head in his hands. If he wasn’t weeping, he was certainly deeply distressed.
‘There you are!’ said Rose.
She scribbled ‘HERE’ on a piece of paper and held it up, waving frantically. Some of the other inhabitants in the other apartments opposite caught sight of her and waved back enthusiastically.
‘Not you!’ she shouted. ‘Not you! You! Come on! You!’
At long last the man looked up, his face white and drawn. He poured himself a glass of wine from a jug in front of him on the table, gulped it down, then sighed.
